Sick Day
by CurlyTuft
Summary: Playing hooky: in the best possible way.
1. Congestion

One of the best purchases I have made in recent years is a new mattress. Originally, when I moved to Univille, I really didn't have much of a choice in the matter since the mattress came with the bed, and that bed would appear to have been at least 60 years old. Not that it was consistently used throughout that time, but it was still worn and warped in parts. Once I started my third year of working at the Warehouse, I figured a new mattress would be a decent investment to keep me rested and happy.

This mattress is, without a doubt, one of the greatest inventions ever. Forget smartphones, Internet, sliced bread, moveable type: this is it. The top of the mattress is plush with a pillow loop top, it has ventilated foam so I don't wake in a sweat during the middle of the night, it also has pressure point relief which is fantastic after a day of artifact hunting.

There is one feature though that I never thought would matter much since I didn't share the bed with anyone, and a year or so down the road completely forgot what this mattress could do: no motion transfer.

Needless to say, I was pleasantly reminded of this one morning.

* * *

_Thursday morning._

I don't look at the clock, but judging by the light coming into the room, it's somewhere between five and six in the morning. Even though the clocks were turned forward four days ago, I'm still cranky at the loss of an hour, even if it means that my room is a bit brighter. I remain still in the bed, lying in a comfortable position with my hands wedged under the pillow, blanket pulled up under my chin and legs perfectly outstretched. It might be too early to wake up, but everything about being in this bed, curled up, is wonderful.

As lovely as it might be, it takes every ounce of me to prevent my brain from negative thoughts. That is, specifically negative thoughts about events of the past year: cancer, Leena's death, the astrolabe, constant fear of death-by-artifact. Despite all of these memories floating through my head, I keep reminding myself how fortunate I am to now be healthy, to have my little family here (with new members, thanks to Abigail), to only sparingly having death-by-artifact moments since I've been feeling better.

Sadly, there is one thought that replays over in my mind again and again: Helena's not here. It takes a lot more for me to get the thought of her living in Boone with Nate and Adelaide out of my mind. I know that she doesn't belong there, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. In the end, I am not the one that truly needs the convincing that Helena is where she needs to be; it's ultimately up to her to decide her own path. If her path is the suburbs, a boyfriend/significant other/partner and a child, then that is the path for her.

It's not my decision and I certainly don't have any claim to advise her on that. There are always those times though that I wish to just call her up and blatantly demand, "What on earth are you doing?" I could never be so bold as to do that though. It was hard enough when Pete and I were there that I called her out on it, and she did take offence pretty quickly.

There are also those times, those saddest of times, where I look in the mirror and tell myself that we don't need her here. We're all here because the Warehouse likes us, it brought all of us together, only a handful have fallen at the wayside over the past couple of years. We are a perfectly good family without her.

As I lie in bed, trying not to think of subjects and people that distress me, I curl into myself even more, pull the blankets up tighter and adjust my head on the pillow one more time. The smallest, most pathetic whimper escapes my lips when I think about her just then and I shut my eyes. I don't think I can fall back asleep now after my mind wandered through all of the good and bad thoughts, so I flip over onto my other side that faces the encroaching morning light.

One eye peeks out to assess the sunlight to find that the room is now mostly visible. It's still dark, but it's easier to make out the outlines of my window-adjacent chair. It's perfectly peaceful and calming.

Hold on.

Wait.

Is that- ?

There's something not quite right about this picture. My view of the chair by the window is obstructed by something; something next to me. I quickly open my eyes again to take in my surroundings and see someone right beside me on the bed. Before I can identify the unknown bedfellow, I recoil for a second and then pull in when I fully recognize the person there next to me, on her side facing me.

Helena's not completely asleep, her eyes are lazy and sleepy, looking at me. The corners of her mouth are ever-so slightly upturned as she dozes in and out of sleep. My eyes are equally lazy and sleepy, but my heart is racing at the sight of her there.

"What's going on?" I mutter once I relax.

Helena pauses, repositioning her head on the pillow next to me and shifting her body closer to mine. Her hand moves from the pillow to her neck where she swipes away a couple stray strands of hair, then returns it underneath her pillow. Her position mimics my own.

"I left."

I say nothing and she doesn't elaborate. It's way too early in the morning to be thinking about these sorts of things. All I know is that Helena is here, in bed, softly breathing and looking straight at me. She doesn't get any closer, nor does she say anything. Hell, I'm not sure what to say to her right now. Part of me fears ripping into her, yelling and screaming about her absence; the other part wants to pull her in, hold her and countlessly thank her for being here.

"Don't go to work in the morning." she finally says. It's a subdued statement, quiet and sounds completely strange falling from her lips. I've never known Helena to shirk responsibility, but there is something desperate and pitiful about her request.

"I won't."

I sigh and push the blankets off me so I can roll over to find my cell phone on the nightstand. It takes a moment for me to find it, fumbling around and knocking into the water bottle and alarm clock. I go send Artie (and Pete) brief texts saying that I'm not feeling well and am taking a sick day. The phone returns to its charger on the nightstand and I turn off the alarm that was scheduled to wake me up in an hour. The blankets return to their proper place around my shoulders; my hands go underneath the pillow to stay warm. Helena moves closer to the middle of the bed and I fall asleep. I think she does too.

* * *

As much as I would absolutely love to say that I positively got the best rest ever sleeping besides Helena, I don't. Far from it.

Yes, I fairly quickly fall back asleep, but I eventually wake from a peaceful two-hour rest to find Helena stretching her legs out and cracking her knees and ankles underneath the covers. I open my eyes to watch her do this and, as casually as possible, clear my throat.

"Helena?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Stretching."

"You woke me up." It comes out harsher than I intended.

"Apologies."

"It's alright, just go back to- are you even tired?"

"Yes, but my legs ache a bit from the car ride."

I pause with the questions, realizing that she drove all the way out here alone, in the middle of the night. That trip can be quite the drive on one's own, especially those desolate patches in South Dakota. Not that I would know firsthand, just recalling the few times I plugged a certain address into Google Maps for a suggested driving route, mileage and time.

Helena adjusts her position on the bed and no longer remains facing toward me. She curls up on her side, looking out the window at the 7:30 am sunlight coming into the room.

* * *

A solid sleep cycle later, I wake up to another sound. I'm lucky I got in those uninterrupted hours, but still I feel a little bit groggy. It's not like me (and I'm guessing not like Helena) to be sleeping in so late, especially on a weekday. The sound I first hear this time round is the toilet flushing and the faucet running. Okay, understandable noises, I suppose. Moments later, Helena comes out of the bathroom and tumbles back into bed. She sees me watching her as she walks from the bathroom door to the bed wearing some colorful printed pyjama pants and a t-shirt.

The room must be chilly because even without my glasses on I can definitely see-

"I apologize again for waking you."

Huh? Oh yeah.

"No problem, I should be up anyways." I offer, pointing at my alarm clock. Helena reaches forward to pull the blankets up. "Are you cold?"

She scrunches up her nose and looks around for the heater in the room. "I am actually."

I get out of bed and head to the dresser to find a sweatshirt or long-sleeved tee for her to wear. Underneath a pile of well-worn shirts, I come across a dark purple Henley that has certainly seen better days. The sight of one of my favorite college lounge-around items brings a little smile to my face. It's soft, a few holes at the cuffs, a button is missing, regardless it's still one of my favorites. I scurry back to the warmth of the bed and hand the shirt to Helena. It's only when I am getting back into bed that I watch her eyes which are staring at the tight grey boxer briefs I have on. Her eyes go back up to meet mine, and she grins. She immediately sits up, puts on the shirt over her tee, and slinks back under the covers next to me.

"Thanks, my other clothes are still in the car."

"No problem."

"Lovely shorts, by the way."

I chuckle, thinking of the Batman shorts I'm wearing. "Just a silly gift from Pete."

"Do I want to know why Pete bought you men's undergarments?"

"Long story."

We say nothing more or move for about five minutes. Helena burrows her nose under the covers and shivers. I sit up, reaching for the fuzzy blanket at the foot of the bed and place it over her side only.

"Better?" I ask.

"Yes, thank you."

Now that Helena is warmer, and I'm relatively awake (just maybe), I start off.

"You left."

"I did."

"I don't understand, I thought you were happy there, had everything you've ever wanted."

"For a time, perhaps; however, not for the long term."

"But..." I stop and move my hands under the pillow again for warmth, "you had a little girl."

Helena removes her nose from under the blanket so I can see her mouth as she speaks. "Yes, but it was wrong of me to stay there solely for her. It got to the point where I was planning activities, meals, outings and the like without giving a second thought to Nate and what he might want. I did everything for her and her alone. There were several occasions where I nearly forgot he existed aside from going to bed at night and waking up in the morning."

Don't remind me...

"It was so sweet to watch you interact with Adelaide."

Helena smiles. "We had some lovely times."

"And Nate?"

She buries her nose again to keep out the chill. "He was nice, considerate, dependable, just not..."

"...for you." I finish.

"...you." Helena says at the same time.

Once more, we fall silent, simply looking at one another.

"I really wish you had come home with us, Helena." I finally say.

"Me too."

"No, I don't think you know how much I wanted you to be here. You had to make the decision to come back; I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for. There were so many times I almost picked up the phone. There were so many times I looked at directions online, trying to figure out if I could make the trip on my own."

Helena looks at me quizzically, raising an eyebrow. "Why couldn't you make the trip on your own?"

A flood of memories replay in my mind, thoughts of telling Pete, surrounded by doctors, needles, tubes and the like protruding from my body. I compose myself as best I can and calmly try to catch my breath so it's not too obvious I'm on the verge of crying. My toes fidget and my hands shift to curling around my own waist under the covers.

"I, uh, I had...cancer."

Helena's body doesn't move, that one smug eyebrow quickly lowers and she takes a deep breath before saying anything else.

"Why didn't-"

"You were bronzed for over a hundred years because of your grief and your guilt. What if- how could I have burdened you with that? How could I? Especially if I'd-"

"You'd have never burdened me, Myka." Helena slowly reaches for my hand clinging to my waist. "You have saved me numerous times; you've always been there when I've needed you."

"And you haven't always been there for me." I snidely add and gruffly push her hand away. "Don't touch me."

Helena immediately recoils, wiping a tear from her eye and then wrapping her own arms around her middle for self-comfort. "Fair enough."

"You abandoned us...abandoned ME!" I shout, breathing heavily after every couple of words. "You left twice. That last time, Pete will tell you, I cried. I cried as we pulled away from that driveway, watching you stand there so sure of yourself and overtly confident that foregoing a life of 'endless wonder' would destroy you in the long run. I cried all the way to the airport. I cried because you weren't sitting there in the back seat because you were too comfy playing house, using some guy just to get to his child, just so you could replace-"

Helena sits up in bed and sternly looks at me. "How dare you bring Christina into this-"

"No, how dare you leave me behind!" I sit up as well, fighting tears and getting angrier every second. "Not after what I went through, what I had to put everyone here through. I didn't have the person I care about most in the entire world with me."

"I didn't know!"

"You didn't even care to ask how we were doing, how I was doing. You never called or e-mailed any of us."

"You never gave me that chance."

"Don't you think you've already used up those chances?"

"You never even told me!"

"No one told you a thing, Helena, because they didn't want you to show up and leave again. Not during a time like that."

She's crying. Really, really crying. Helena has always tried so hard to prove herself. I shouldn't yell at her. She didn't know, I told Pete not to tell anyone what was going on, most of all Helena.

"Hey, I'm..." My voice trails off, watching her cry harder than she did back in Egypt that terrible day. I put my hands around her and hold her as she sobs into my shoulder. Helena grips me and does nothing more than cry. "... sorry." I try tilting the two of us back to lying down on the bed; luckily, she willingly complies and relaxes in my arms.

I gently hold her, stroking her back and doing my best to soothe her, despite me yelling moments earlier. Helena sobs and she doesn't stop. I remind myself that I have cried for her, many times, many hours, more than I ought to have probably. Helena is angled to the side of my chest, one arm tucked underneath the blankets and the other almost holding me down, perfectly placed on my chest, fingers resting underneath my chin. Her head, with now unruly hair, rests by my shoulder. I hold her tightly, I tell her everything will be okay. I tell her over and over that everything will be alright for us. For her. For me. I've never held anyone like this before; no one's ever held me like this. I wonder how I (or is it we?) have instinctually figured out a restful, intimate position without really trying.

"What sort of cancer was it?" she finally asks.

"Ovarian. One of my ovaries was removed." Helena cringes and starts sniffling again. Her hands disappear from my waist and shift lower to my hips, caressing and smoothing over the stretchy fabric of my boxers, feeling for evidence of scars. My breath hitches for a moment when my brain finally computes where her hands are.

"Sorry, does it hurt?" Her hands immediately stray from my body and wrap around herself again as though she's done another action to anger me.

"No, no, no. All better now." I reply as I reach over to her to find her hands to return to my hips. I don't go into detail with her about my recovery, what all of that took from me. Helena's hands willingly let themselves be guided back to my body and remain exactly where I place them: utterly motionless and burning heat through the thin fabric of my shorts. "Besides, this is...nice."

That familiar smile returns and she squeezes my hip. I smile back and close my eyes. "Is there much scarring?"

"No, it was a laparoscopic procedure, so no more than tiny incisions." I pause for a moment, debating whether or not I should- that is, show her. I release my arm from around her neck to pull back the blanket, exposing my midriff. I prop myself up on my elbows so I can gauge how much skin I am going to reveal. Helena gives me a confused look, carefully watching my movements. "See?" I offer. Her lips part when I lift up the thick elastic of my boxer briefs and push it down far enough that she can see the incisions.

Helena runs her fingers over the marks, her fingertips radiate warmth against my cool abdomen. "Those will disappear over time."

I take in the sensation of Helena's slender hand so intimately placed against me. Not that I mind it, of course, but she seems lost in a train of thought with her hand there. "Helena?" I whisper as she strokes the puckered incisions. She shifts her arm, and dips her fingers and palm of her hand a little bit lower. I stop breathing again for a moment when I take in the placement of her hand. "Helena?" I say more firmly and loudly.

Helena finally notices where her hand is and comes out of that temporary trance. "Sorry." She moves her hand up onto my stomach and holds it there, still not breaking contact with my body.

"Are you still tired?" I ask, rubbing my hands over her back. It's strange to feel the fabric of my favorite shirt on someone else, the soft cotton passing by the palms of my hands, trailing over her back. It's equally as strange for me to feel the weight of another person partially on me.

"Only a little. Driving at night certainly take it out of you. The crying as well."

"Hmm." I wordlessly concur. I squirm my hips to get a bit more comfortable. "Again, sorry I yelled at you."

"It's alright," she says and then lifts her head to look into my eyes. "I do wish you'd have told me."

"I wanted to," I begin, "I wanted to pick up that phone so badly some nights, but didn't want to get hurt again." Helena puts her head back down on my shoulder, still sniffling. She then bends her left leg to entwine with my own and her leg props directly between my thighs. That tiny bit of pressure combined with her proximity makes my head spin, my breathing become more shallow, and my heartbeat increase.

Her fingers trace the soft v of my neck over and over. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"I know you don't want to." I try to keep my voice balanced, not distracted by her fingers, or the fact that she's pressing against me. "Helena, why...why did you leave Wisconsin?"

"Rather a loaded question, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but why? Why now?"

"Perhaps I've realized what I have been looking for has been in front of me."

"And what is that?"

"This eclectic little family of misfits who knows and accepts without question that H.G. Wells is actually a woman, looks amazing at 147, and fancies tinkering."

Helena can't see it, but I smile and hold her a bit tighter. I take a deep breath, stroking her back and listening to her slowly inhale and exhale, sniffling every 30 seconds. "Is that all?"

The room becomes silent, my hands stay still, Helena doesn't sniffle. She says nothing and presses her arms upwards so she can look me in the eye. In order to lean up, she presses herself even harder against me with her legs, and her arm between my breasts pushes down so she can gain her balance. "Perhaps I've also come to realize that I have been a complete arse."

"You're not a 'complete arse,' Helena."

"I am because I come all the way back here, crawl into bed next to you, fall asleep, put on your exceptionally comfy old clothes, and then don't even tell you how much I love you until now."

I'm grinning, genuine ear-to-ear grinning at the beautiful woman holding onto me. "You're so difficult." I say with a sigh. "How long has it taken for you to say that to me?"

"Far too long."

"You're less of an ass now that you've admitted it." I pull Helena on top of me, placing her arms by my neck and both her legs between mine. She doesn't protest, merely makes herself more comfortable against me. "However, you're still a total ass for telling Nate that we were roommates." I say as I press her entirely against my body, holding her restfully against me.


	2. Fever

"How you said 'roommate' and the hesitation in your voice definitely implied I was a more than someone who shared a dorm room with you." Helena only smirks, implying and unquestionably affirming to me she knew what she'd been saying all along. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"Oh, I do believe it'd be impossible for me to forget that tale of you in college and dalliances with the intimate companionship of the fairer sex." she says as she sweeps stray curls away from my face. "Besides, you've always been more to me."

"Yes, but it's not like we were...are...were...involved." I add with a wriggle of my hips. All of her movement, especially the shifting between my legs, is making me respond to her. I'm getting dizzy, practically drunk on the sensation of her body against me. There's a deep intake of air from Helena, a look that says she's getting lost in this moment as well. Not to mention my cheeks are also probably bright red and burning. At this point, I am pretty sure I can feel the heat of her arousal through those thin pajama pants.

"Myka, you've handcuffed me to a chair and we've been snugly bound together with ropes. I think, I can adequately say, we're at least on the correct path."

"You're still an ass." I angle my head upward to brush my lips against hers. Sweet, soft, tentative, loving. My hands secure around her back to pull her closer to me, so I might taste more of her mouth. "And I love you."

I thought it'd be harder to profess, harder to finally kiss her. We spend several relaxing moments pressed against one another, lips locked, hands wandering; Helena doesn't move from resting on top of me. Her hands wind through my hair, my hands go anywhere from her hair on down to her thighs, kneading the firm muscles beneath my hands. I am absolutely loving kissing her, holding her to me, wandering my hands over her body.

For a brief second, I pause when I realize that she was with Nate. Nate got to hold her, make love to her, watch her come undone well before me. I'm undoubtedly jealous of him. Sure, I'm doing all of this with her now, but I wasn't the first to do that. It's childish and pointless of me to even bring it up, but I can't help this emotion nagging at my gut. When we finally come up for air, I blurt out, from what seems like the middle of nowhere, "I have to be honest: I don't do jealous well and I have been jealous ever since I saw you that day in Wisconsin." I can't help it. It's been on my mind for the longest time and I want her to know how I feel before we go any further. Happy, well-adjusted adults don't tell their partner with whom they are about to get very naked and very raunchy that they are envious of a former lover. At least, I'm pretty confident that's where we're heading.

Helena angles her head, raises herself away from me just a bit. "Jealous? Why?"

"Nate was the first to lovingly get to hold you in over a hundred years."

Helena waits a moment before she replies to me, kissing my neck and beneath my ear. She raises her head so that her mouth is pressed against my ear, breathing deeply and warmly. She takes one deep breath and says, "True, but you're the last." directly against me.

Our lips meet again. We comfortably kiss, getting more and more heated as we start to remove each other's clothes. With Helena on top of me, I tug at her arms to remove her shirt. It's not entirely graceful, but I try to get everything off her and keep her warm at the same time by making sure she is bundled up in the blankets.

"Don't want you to be cold." I smirk. Helena nestles into me and even though I think she's just snuggling to stay warm, she's trying to lift up so that she can hook her fingers around my shirt to take it off. "Sneaky..." Without too much hesitation (or effort) my shirt is tossed aside as is hers. A small pile of clothes begins to accumulate at the side of the bed and I'm proud of my ability thus far to get her undressed. I've missed this; I've missed being with someone. Not that that was a frequent occurrence or anything in the past, but it's the first time though I've been so completely in love.

My next tactic to getting Helena naked involves me trying to get those sleep bottoms off while loving her breasts. I love the shape of them, how they taste, how they respond to my touch. I push Helena up my stomach so that her nipples are within reach of my tongue and I can easily lick and suck at them. She's far enough up that I can have her breasts against my cheeks as I alternate between kissing them and pressing my face into her. All of those tiny freckles invite me to kiss each one; every kiss makes her pant, every swipe of my tongue over a nipple makes her groan. She's so distracted by my mouth on her breasts that she doesn't even notice my hands sneaking under the waistband of her pajama pants. I'm soon distracted by the fact that she has nothing on beneath them.

My hands work their way underneath the waistband, sliding to the front and then pop out again to undo the tie at her waist when I realize I'll never get these off her unless I untie them. I quickly shimmy them down as far as possible and Helena lifts off me for a moment, completely removing her last remaining clothes and climbs back on top of me. Before resuming, she pauses to look at me beneath her: utterly aroused, shirtless, hardened nipples, deep breaths coming from somewhere deep in my throat.

"I love you without a shirt on." Helena smooths her hands over my hips, much like she had done earlier. Her eyes continue their descent lower until she sees the juncture of my thighs. I throb a little bit more when I watch her gaze between my legs and admire what she sees. "I love you in those shorts."

"Good, but why don't you take them off?"

Helena raises an eyebrow and teases her fingers against the front of them. Her fingers slyly wander inside, but not too far in where they are touching my skin. "I could, but it's far more enjoyable to tease." Her fingers graze over fabric, directly over my clit and merely rub the same pattern again and again around a small circular zone. It's so easy to relax under her ministrations, so easy to forget any painful history we've had when we're doing this. My clit is throbbing, blood rushes to my center making it difficult for me to form any sort of coherent sentence. My hips roll with her hand gestures until my back arches to prolong one of Helena's more curious attempts at teasing me. She witnesses me trying to prolong any pleasure she offers, but she's having none of that. Her hand grasps inside the opening of the fabric and pulls them down with one fast swoop.

"Oh." I say when I finally see my shorts in Helena's hand, which soon are placed on the floor and put out of sight. She looks at me for a moment, just a moment to take in my nude form.

"Beautiful."

Helena kisses my lips softly.

"Breathtaking."

She kisses my breasts delicately.

"Stunning."

Helena kisses my clit teasingly.

It's too much. I feel everything between my legs pounding, my walls vibrating, my arousal dripping, Helena's fingers sliding into my opening. Even though we've barely begun, I come hard around Helena, hard enough she can feel my walks clench and spasm around her. Once she senses my orgasm and there's absolutely no way of stopping it (nor would I want there be), her tongue returns to my clit to prolong my pleasure.

"That was unexpected." I mutter after catching my breath. Helena looks up at me, perhaps with the wrong impression. "I meant, unexpected as in so soon."

"You needed that...immediately." She replies with a smile and moves up so that we're face to face. Her fingers are still in me, her thumb lightly rubs my clit when she lowers her lips to mine. I still feel myself gripping those fingers and I gasp at the feeling of Helena inside me. The kiss that she gives me, with moistened, scented lips, encourages me only to switch positions with her, even if it means her fingers leaving my body. Her lips smell like me, perfumed with my scent that I recognize as the one where I am very turned on and want to be fucked. Once she is flipped onto her back, I straddle her thigh and lie down on top of her; Helena shifts to press herself against the thigh between her legs and moans. I slide up and down her leg, letting her feel me gliding over her skin. My thigh feels hot and sticky with her wetness.

The hand I had around her neck trails down her side and then centers itself between her legs. I pull my thigh away from her and she misses the contact with my body. She's perfectly damp with her own moisture; my fingers slide over her wetness, spreading the liquid all over so that her skin glistens. Helena keeps moaning and heavily breathing, fingernails running up and down my back in a motion matching what I'm doing between her clit and her entrance. I never enter her, only tease her opening, and then run my fingers back up to the tip of her. The moaning in my ear encourages me to keep repeating what I'm doing until she can absolutely take no more of it.

"Please."

I rub her clit, side to side, between my index and middle fingers. They're saturated with her juices and maintaining a steady pace that keeps Helena panting.

"More."

More. My fingers move faster, more pressure even, and stroke her. The hands that roamed my back are now still, nails digging into my lower back as she encourages me on. She's focusing on the sensation of me rubbing her, trying to orgasm from only the touch of my fingers. I have other plans.

I move my two fingers from her clit to the opening, teasing the fingertip of my middle finger inside her. It takes a moment as I try to recall what to do; however, everything comes back to me much faster than anticipated. It's difficult to deny myself fractions of a second or two to memorize each action I do that causes her to moan so much. There will be time for memorization (and further practice) down the road. At least I hope there is. Helena's hips cant forward, almost trying to impale herself on my fingers, bringing me back to look at her beautiful body.

"You like this?"

"Yes." She breathlessly tilts her head toward mine.

"Did he fuck you often?"

I have no idea where that comes from, no idea why I say that. Obviously it's part of my subconscious and lingering somewhere in my mind. Helena does not appear to be even slightly phased by my words, so I enter her a little bit more with that one finger.

"No."

"No? But you shared the same bed, right?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Twice a month, maybe three times."

"Ah. Well, that couldn't have possibly satisfied this beautiful cunt of yours. You've been utterly soaked at the touch of my fingertip."

"It didn't."

I keep going, keep pushing.

"I bet you touched yourself often, to compensate, didn't you?" My other finger stops teasing her outside and joins my middle finger where it is precariously placed slightly inside her.

"Yes."

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" I cease movement.

"You."

"Me?" I smile at the thought of Helena's hand between her legs, fucking herself to the thought of her hand being my own. "Hmm. And how does reality compare to imagination?"

"This is nicer." My fingers start moving again, sliding into her deeper. I love filling her like this; I even want to add another finger to really feel her tight around me, gripping me and pulling me in. "Far nicer."

"Did his cock fill you up? Hit all the right spots inside you?"

"No."

My fingers curl and press a few times against a spot that makes her moan and writhe with pleasure. Helena whelps at the pressure and sensation in her body; she clings to me, matching pace with my fingers. "More."

I add another finger and give her a moment to adjust. I place my mouth at her neck when I start sliding in and out of her. My thumb moves to her clit, begins its pace to make her orgasm; all so I can feel her come undone at the mercy of my right hand. There is a sudden gush of liquid that comes from her body, something that changes the sound of my fingers pumping in and out of her. My teeth gently gnaw at her neck, nibble at her sensitive skin as my fingers move. When she comes, there's even more wetness surrounding my fingers. She bucks her hips still trying to feel the pressure of my thumb as she rides out her orgasm.

I nibble on her lower lip, sucking the now bruised lip in my mouth as she comes down from her orgasm. Her lips are lovely, so easy to kiss and to tease. "Did you blow him too?"

"Yes."

"You probably give the best head, made him come in your mouth over and over."

"Yes."

"And you swallowed every last drop of him."

"Yes."

"And I bet he ate your pussy, licked up all this liquid you seem to create when-"

"No." Helena interrupts. "He never..."

What.

I cringe at the idea he never orally pleasured her. That's...that's the best part I think. I gently remove my fingers from her, all so I can taste her on my lips. I only give myself a moment to savor her flavor. Helena tastes sweet, a perfect mixture of that combination of pre-orgasm and recent-orgasm arousal.

"Do you even have any idea how good you taste?" I offer once my hand returns to her entrance and slides up and down, teasing her mercilessly.

"I have a fair idea, considering I've tasted myself on Nate's cock after he fucked me."

She would have done that: not allowed him to come in her, but lick all her juices right off his cock before he'd ejaculate in her mouth. She'd never tasted herself untainted by another. I pause, wondering how she could have stayed with someone who didn't share the same care and enthusiasm as she gave. Moving myself on the bed, I shift down to her clit, to all of that delicious essence that is still there. I place my head between her thighs and breathe deeply. I lick at her. Slowly dart my tongue in and out, bringing as much of her essence into my mouth as possible. Helena moans, tugs at my hair.

To think I am the first in quite a long time to have done this to her. It's my tongue, my lips that circle her most intimate spot, that make her quake. I stop before we are too much into it and push back up towards her mouth. Slowly, I press my lips to hers and open my mouth so she can taste my tongue, taste her beautiful flavor to understand that she is so delicious.

"You're absolutely delectable." My entire mouth smells like her and I haven't even truly begun going down on her. "In fact, you taste even better after you've come." Helena stops sucking on my tongue and moves to my chin where she laps up more liquid into her mouth.

"I taste significantly better upon your lips."

"Good," I begin with once she has stopped licking and kissing me, "I am going to put my mouth back on you, alright?"

"Yes."

"Good." I say and descend between her legs once more. Before I start, I simply look at her before me with her legs spread open. Her labia are so engorged, so deep red from her orgasm, her clit pulsing from just the couple of licks I gave her, that I'm distracted by her body's response to me. Every inch of her is shining with arousal and I want all of it on my tongue. I put my hands underneath her thighs to keep her steady, glancing up a moment to see Helena watch me take in my feast. Before I start, I take a deep breath to take in as much of the smell of her arousal as I can and savor it. I smile back at her, then avert my eyes downwards again. My mouth opens to take in one of those beautiful engorged labia to suck and tease with my tongue. I go back and forth between the two, occasionally nibbling at the skin and pulling it between my teeth. Helena moans at the contact, bucking her hips in approval and threading fingers through my hair. I next press my open mouth to her entrance and manage to get my tongue back inside her to taste more at the source.

I really enjoy taking a sick day.


End file.
